"To Be King"I am a Pokemon, but I can still remember.I can remember the luxury, the splendor, of all those days passed.I remember the days when I was not a Pokemon, when I was a man.I wasn't a carpenter, or a grave-digger, or a lord or a lady. No, I was above that. I was a king!And I ruled my land to the fullest extent of my power. I punished the rich and squandered the poor. I made slaves of the citizens for my own, glorious ends. I built ziggurats and pyramids the likes of which the Old Lands never knew.But in my infinite wisdom, I came to see the local wildlife, those dubbed Majuu or demons or gods on Earth, and saw they had potential. In my infinite power, I obtained their herds and put them to work.For now, my people could rest easily, as monsters once feared were made to do the bidding of men.My empire expanded from its pitiful desert settings to the entire peninsula, nay, to the entire region. But, I wanted more.In my infinite compassion, I saw that we, the chosen people, were prosp
RotomAs the story goes, Charon was once the child of a wealthy and very powerful family, who originally owned the chateau. In those days, it was bright and bustling, with maids and servants running to and fro. Back then, Charon and his sister, Annabel (though some variations call her "Echo" or "Vestia")were carted along by several nannies, since Charon's own parents were too busy at parties funding Pokemon Gyms and at welcoming ceremonies for Safari complexes. Charon and his sister were supplied with all sorts of toys and games and playthings for their amusement; they even had a big TV to watch movies on. Annabel was perfectly fine with this arrangement, but Charon still longed for something more: a friend.One day, he found it in a mysterious Pokemon that emerged from the groundskeeper's lawn mower. At first, Charon was afraid, but he quickly got to see that the Pokemon was benevolent, and brought it inside the house, where he talked to it and played games with it and essentially befriende
Dumb Poetry: DeoxysDeoxys, Deoxys, glowing brightIn the gloom of Hoenn nightWhat immortal hand or eyeCould frame thy fearful symmetry?...In what distant deeps did soarThe evil power of thine core?On what wings dare he aspire,He who tamed your vicious fire?With what blueprints, with what charms,Did twist together thine sinew arms?And through what rain or snow or sleetDid he toil on thine padless feet?What the furnace? What the womb?What the craft that spelt our doom?What the calloused craftman's handsThat built thine chassis, orange-tanned?When the stars fled at thine sight,This living symbol of man's fright,Did he cheer for his work's proof?Was he the same who made Bidoof?Deoxys, Deoxys, glowing brightIn the gloom of Hoenn nightWhat immortal hand or eyeDare frame thy fearful symmetry?